She was not Allison Meadowbrook, but nor was she the pious teacher she pretended to be. Perhaps that was why, despite Allison’s demands, Priscilla couldn’t bring herself to be angry with Victoria and Lord Rosewood for putting all of them in this position.
No, Priscilla had no right to judge.
Emerson had escorted her up the long stone stairwell. “Are you up to joining the others?” he’d asked.
She had not been. Not even close.
And so, he’d accompanied her to her chamber, but before she could enter, he’d backed her against the wall where he caged her against it using his body. “Tomorrow,” he’d said, his moss-green eyes burning with intensity. “When the other guests go into the village, stay here. We need to talk.”
And by “talk,” Priscilla knew he meant betrothal talk.
But she didn’t think about talking for long. Not when he kissed her.
And kissed her some more.
After what could have been hours but still wasn’t enough, he’d torn himself away, and with a courtly bow, bid her goodnight.
Alone in the luxurious chamber, Priscilla had quickly changed into her night rail, cleaned up, and climbed under the covers.
He wanted her to excuse herself from the excursion, which meant another lie. She was lying to him, to his mother, and now, was she to lie to Chloe as well?
She’d done enough lying to last a lifetime.
Would Chloe even believe her?
Doubtful.
When Chloe had returned to their chamber, Priscilla feigned sleep.
“Prissy?” Chloe had whispered into the darkness.
But Priscilla hadn’t answered.
Because Chloe would want to know everything and Priscilla, well, she’d been too exhausted to know where to begin.
By the time Cook returned to inspect the dough, Priscilla had yet to solve any of her problems, but she’d worked off a good deal of her turmoil.
“Was that enough?” Cook asked her with narrowed eyes.
Priscilla glanced around the room. “What else can I do?”
Hunt drew Arturo to a halt behind Edgeworth. Both of their horses breathed hard from the early morning exertions.
Damian arrived seconds later.
With the sun only beginning to crest the horizon, the sea reflected rose and gold, a few shades lighter and not as vibrant as the eastern sky.
“How goes the engagement?” Edgeworth was the first of them to speak. By some unspoken rule, they didn’t do much talking on these early morning rides. Which was just as well. He’d exercised more demons this way than he could remember.
Hunt wasn’t selfish enough to imagine himself the only one. In these times, any nobleman who lived without plights was deluded.
But Edgeworth had asked about Hunt’s engagement.
“I don’t know,” he said.
He would not divulge what transpired on the cliff terrace.
“Did the addendum change anything?” Damien asked.
